The Origin of Moonglo
by Rainbow Brownie
Summary: Just where did Moonglo and Nite Sprite come from?
1. Chapter 1

Low, soft, moans echoed in the room, sounds of torment and anguish. "No. _No!_ I didn't mean to! No, _don't!_"

Suddenly Moonglo shot bolt upright in bed, her usually fair complexion ice-white, and light blue eyes wide and enormous.

"It's OK Moonglo it's OK," Nite Sprite said, standing right alongside the bed as he reached out and gently took Moonglo's cold, clammy hand between his. "I'm here. It's OK. It's just a dream."

Moonglo closed her eyes and deeply shuddered. Gradually, gulped, heaving pants eased to more regular, relaxed breathing. Then, after quite some time, "Yes. Just a dream," she whispered in a more normal tone before finally lying back down. "Just a dream," she repeated, so very much softer. Nite Sprite kept holding her hand as she slowly slipped back into slumber.

Because of the hours they kept no one really knew Moonglo suffered terrible nightmares at times. Nite Sprite did, though. Then again . . . _he_ had terrifying nightmares, too.

Once he was sure Moonglo was peacefully asleep again he went back to bed. Hopefully neither she nor he would have a recurrence today as they slept. It had been a very _very_ long time since either of them could go to sleep without fearing a nightmare.

If truth be told, not since he'd been other than Nite Sprite . . . and she had been another other than Moonglo.

When, in fact, she'd been known as the Princess of Shadows, the Sovereign of Night.

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Pipkin raced through the devastation that had once been Rainbow Land, pursued by horrors best left unimagined. It was all he, or any sprite, could do. It was run and hide, or be found, caught and, well . . .

He panted, catching his breath while wildly looking around. The lucky ones were frozen as statues. The less fortunate ones were taken back to the castle of the King of Shadows.

It . . . it had all happened so _quickly!_ One moment everything had been just as it always had been. Then the next . . . and Prisma had been tricked of her Color Belt, betrayed by whom everyone had thought was a friend. Before anyone had known what was happening Prisma was gone. Just _gone!_ And the Color Castle had been hideously transformed into a grotesque, forbidding, gloomy castle, while all of Rainbow Land—indeed, the entire _world!_—had been distorted and twisted into the Colorless World.

Pipkin had no idea where Indigo, his Color Kid, had gone. She, like the others, had been captured moments after Prisma had vanished and Rainbow Land had been destroyed. He should have, he supposed, tried rescuing and saving her. A lot of the other indigo sprites had, after all. But he'd been too timid, too frightened, and now that moment was gone.

The one hope he clung to like a limpet was that Indigo was likely safe. Captured and imprisoned, yes, but still safe. It was incredibly difficult to destroy one of the Color Kids, as they truly were the epitome and personification of their respective colors. Trying to do so would be like obliterating all length, or width, or height. But while that was extremely, exceptionally challenging to do, it also wasn't utterly impossible, either.

Unlike that was for sprites. Or for poor Prisma.

The only thing keeping Pipkin from disintegrating into pure, absolute despair and simply giving up was that colors still existed. Once glance down at his fur showed that! It was virtually impossible to _completely_ destroy all color from the entire universe. Color had existed since the beginning of time. In fact, since the conception of time, distance, gravity, oh a whole host of other things. Violet could have explained it better, he knew, but Pipkin had known enough on his own to understand.

Destruction of color would require the destruction of a good many other things, life included. But the _control_ of color, well . . . that was another barrel of color crystals entirely!

Rainbow Land wasn't needed for the universe to _have_ color. But it was needed to give color _life_. Rainbow Land gave color animation, and vivacity, and sparkle. It was the difference between reading one of Indigo's plays versus watching her _perform_ one.

That was truly why Rainbow Land existed. Or _had_ existed, Pipkin shuddered anew. Eerie howls and screeches echoed in the clingy, shadowy mists. At the moment only Rainbow Land was suffering devastation resulting from the conquest of the Dark One. But as soon as he'd consolidated his power he'd extend his awful reach outwards to the rest of the universe, rendering all worlds, all life, as dreary, gloomy and hopeless as the Colorless World now was.

Pipkin hadn't any idea what to do. All seven Color Kids were gone, captured by the Dark One and taken who-knew-where. And as for the Color Belt . . .!

The Color Belt simply could not be destroyed. Altered and changed, perhaps, yes. But it couldn't be destroyed. But not everyone could _use_ it. For instance, none of the sprites or any of the Color Kids could utilize it. They were too primary for that. But most anyone else could use it, for good _or_ for ill. For in an absolute sense it was, purely and simply, a tool.

But that, too, was missing. But even if it _hadn't_ been missing it would have been useless to Pipkin or any of the other sprites. The best they could have hoped to do was hide it away someplace secret and safe, and hope that, one day, there would come a time when a champion would reclaim it.

Pipkin shrank back into the hollow of a group of boulders. There was something prowling around just outside. There were awful, terrible creatures roaming the Colorless World now. True monsters. Some were birds, some lizards, and some were fiendish hybrids that existed nowhere else. And _all_ of them actively sought out and preyed on the sprites now. They seemed to have one purpose, and one purpose alone: to seek out and herd the sprites to a terrible fate.

Something horrible snuffled and sniffed just outside his hidey-hole and Pipkin shuddered in terror, almost squeaking in fright. But if he made a single sound, no matter how tiny . . .

Finally, after what seemed like forever, he heard the sound of taloned paws heavily padding off. He literally oozed downwards until huddled in a ball, his starless antennae wilted and slumped. That was another sign of the terrible tragedy: none of the sprites any longer had star-tipped antennae. None of them knew what that portended, but all of them were certain it was a very bad sign.

Creeping out of the tight confines of his boulder hideout Pipkin eased himself free. Glancing all around he breathed a low, almost silent sigh of relief before continuing along the path. He didn't really have a destination in mind but he hoped at some point to meet up with other sprites. Although what he _really_ hoped to find was a way out of this nightmarish, terrible place!

Suddenly he froze in place. That large boulder up ahead . . . wasn't a boulder. Boulders didn't have eyes! Especially eyes as cold and flat as those were!

Knees knocking together Pipkin started tiptoeing backwards, only to freeze again at the low growl behind him. Yet another monster was there! And he was trapped between them!

Slowly, very slowly, they started creeping towards him, jaws opened and slavering, dark eyes glittering with amused malevolency. Their prey was trapped, with no hope of escape.

No hope of escape . . .

No hope . . .

No hope . . .

*************************************************************************************

"Shhhhh . . . it's OK Nite Sprite. It's just a bad dream. I'm here and it's OK."

Nite Sprite shivered, shaking so hard his crescent-tipped antennae blurred. Softly whimpering he burrowed against Moonglo who was holding him close. Moonglo gently stroked his back, wordlessly crooning and rocking him until the worst of his shudders had eased. Then she lifted, cuddling him against her chest and nestling him in her arms and then padded over to her rocker.

Draping a quilt over them both she cuddled Nite Sprite close to her as she gently rocked back and forth. Gradually the rocking eased and slowed, then finally ceased altogether as, at last, slumber reclaimed them both.


	2. Chapter 2

With a gentle shimmer Moonglo faded back into view, appearing just above her usual, plain wooden chair. Little fisted hands lifted up she stretched, deeply yawning as she gently settled atop her chair. Moments later Nite Sprite popped into view as well, setting down the gold-star-decorated deep blue fabric satchel he carried.

Rubbing her eyes Moonglo gazed upwards, a thoughtful frowny look on her face as she scrutinized the heavens above. No matter how hard she endeavored sometimes it just seemed as if there was always just a bit more she could do. Honestly, it was all too easy for her to to get carried away, and even go overboard, if she wasn't careful. Actually, if Nite Sprite wasn't careful. Quite often he had to, well, rein in her enthusiasm.

He was absolutely right, too, in almost every instance that he did so. Too much of a good thing could be as bad—and, sometimes, even worse—as not enough. It was very hard to remain completely objective about matters once she'd immersed herself in her powers, and if Nite Sprite didn't curb her now and again Moonglo very easily could, and would, go to extremes due to her enthusiasm and verve. Oh, _once_ in a while was acceptable. That made those times extra-special. But if she did that _all_ the time than it wouldn't take very long at all before 'extra-special' became 'plain and ordinary', no matter how dazzling and spectacular.

Still, she wondered if, perhaps, the moon _could_ use a touch more silver. Or perhaps gold. It _did_ look as if she'd missed a spot.

"It's almost morning," Nite Sprite chided, recognizing Moonglo's expression. "Everything looks wonderful. You worked _very_ hard tonight, but it's time now to rest and let morning come."

"_You_ worked very hard too Nite Sprite," Moonglo said in her soft dreamy voice. "I couldn't get half as much done each night without your help."

Hefting the satchel back up Nite Sprite smiled up at Moonglo. "_We_ worked hard," he said. "We're partners. But thank you!"

Together they strolled back to the Color Castle, Moonglo gently resting a small hand atop Nite Sprite's head as they walked. No matter that they were so tightly bonded—in fact, _far_ beyond anything the Color Kids had with their sprites or, for that matter, even Rainbow had with Twink or Starlite—she needed the intimacy of that contact, as did Nite Sprite himself.

But they hadn't _always_ been this close, no. Far from it, in fact.

*************************************************************************************

The fire in the massive hearth behind her softly crackled, now and then a loud pop as a knot sizzled and spit, throwing sparks. Standing on the balcony of her turret Nightshade gazed up at the night sky. A night sky that was utterly, completely black, a black so total it was absolute.

Save, of course, where the stars and moon were.

There was no color to be seen, not a trace of it, _anywhere_. Not on the ground below or the sky above. Except, of course, for those stars and moon. No red, no orange, no yellow . . . nothing but the purest of white, silver or gold.

Father had been right, she thought. Once all color had been vanquished, that had only made _her_ powers so much more magnificent!

Bending her will Nightshade increased the brightness of the moon until it gleamed with a dazzling pure silvery-white, with just a touch of golden highlights enhancing things. Delightedly laughing she spun about, her long flowing sable gown flaring wide. It was glorious! Simply glorious!

"Control yourself child."

Nightshade spun about, facing the source of that deep, gravely voice, all happiness and satisfaction vanishing in the blink of an eye. From deep inside the shadows, from within the middle of her dark suite, malevolently glowed a pair of slanted, narrow-oval orbs.

"Yes Father," Nightshade meekly said, while outside in the sky the stars and moon instantly faded to a barely visible glimmer.

"Better," the King of Shadows rumbled, gliding towards Nightshade, his long dark cloak billowing out behind him.

"Father," Nightshade diffidently began although, truth be told, she was feeling anything but reticent deep down inside her. "I thought you said that, once you'd conquered here, that because of my help and because I'm your daughter and heir—Princess of Shadows and the Sovereign of Night—the night would belong to me?"

"Patience child," the Dark One rumbled, his voice sounding like boulders churning against each other. "Although the battle has been won the war is not yet concluded. Although I have vanquished all those here, my victory is not yet complete. Soon though. Soon."

"But you've been saying that for _years_ now!" Nightshade suddenly blurted. "Years and years and years! What does the nighttime have to do with _your_ powers?" Thrusting out her hand she gestured to the land just beyond her balcony. "There's no color anywhere out there. Your power and rule reign supreme. I'm not asking for much Father. Just for what is my due."

_'And for what you promised me in return for my help!'_ she thought.

"Foolish child!" he growled, looming over Nightshade. "You have no idea what is involved! All you care about is making pretty lights in the sky," he scornfully sneered. "You would be nothing without me, and you'd best remember that!"

Nightshade cringed, feeling Father's power abruptly surround him; an invisible aura that, nevertheless, she could easily sense . . . and had all too many times _felt_.

Meekly holding her hands clasped together in front of her Nightshade submissively bowed her head. "Yes Father."

For a long terrifying moment she felt Father's wrath loom over her, like a huge wave poised to break and drown her. And then that feeling vanished as, with a muted snarl, Father turned and stalked off, leaving her alone . . . and blessedly unscathed.

Nightshade padded out onto her balcony again, resting hands atop the rail as she looked out and up. For the longest time all she felt was immense relief at her reprieve; Father's reprimands—and, much worse, his chastisements—were terrible things to endure.

But as time slowly passed she started feeling emotions that had, only recently, started emerging. Resentment. Anger. Antipathy. She'd done all that Father had ever asked of her. _All_ of it. But never was he satisfied. Never could she please him.

And now _this_.

He'd promised—_promised!_—she could finally start exercising her powers. He'd pledged his consent for the assumption of her rightful mantle as Sovereign of Night. He'd assured her that completion of the simple little task he'd requested would signify her ascension to, and recognition as, Princess of Shadows.

But nothing had changed. Not a bit.

In fact, Father's lackeys and henchmen were seemingly regarded more valuable to him. _They_, at least, had servants. Granted they were those insufferable sprites, but _still!_ Nightshade had asked, over and over again, for servants. _Surely_ the Princess of Shadows deserved servants!

Scowling Nightshade glared out over the dreary, dismal grounds. She wasn't asking for much, simply that which was due her, that which was her right. But Father continued denying her, time and time again.

And when she looked up into the heavens . . .

A deep pain coursed through her. Father just didn't understand that part of her it seemed. Maybe that was because she simply couldn't explain it to him. But there was something so deep inside her that it was impossible to ignore, something so much a part of her that to deny it was agony.

She _needed_ to make the night sky gloriously beautiful.

That was, after all, the main reason she'd agreed to accept the proposal he'd offered her. For once all color was vanquished her handiwork would have no compare.

Even now she felt that need deep inside her straining for release. Closing her eyes she sensed without even trying all the infinitely myriad potentials high above. What could be as stunningly majestic as thousands of pure, scintillating jeweled pinpoints of absolute white set against a backdrop of intense onyx jet? Or the gleaming argent and aurum of a full moon?

A screeched caw snapped Nightshade out of her reverie. Glancing down she spotted one of the hunting birds back winging to a landing in the inner courtyard, one of those dratted sprites tightly held in its claws. Suddenly Nightshade's chin firmed and jutted as she spun about and stalked off.

If Father wouldn't deign bestowing upon her a servant then she'd just commandeer one herself!

Pipkin quaked with terror so intense that when they'd finally landed and was released he simply collapsed in a trembling heap. He'd never even seen the bird. One moment he'd been creeping from cover to cover, and the next he'd suddenly been grasped in the iron grip of claws. Before he could even shriek the ground had already been rapidly dropping from beneath his feet.

But he was also feeling the strangest, most peculiar sense of relief, too. One way or another it was finally all over. No more running. No more hiding. No more misery and despair. No more hopelessness and dreariness. He'd never met a sprite, nor had met a sprite that had _known_ of a sprite, that had ever returned from the castle of the Dark One. So no matter what his fate, at least it was finally all over.

"Back off," a female voice coldly commanded in no uncertain terms. "This one is _mine_."

Quivering Pipkin glanced up, then everything inside him felt as if it were tumbling, spinning and whirling. He was wrong, it seemed. He started violently shaking as he glanced up and recognized the speaker.

Nightshade. The daughter of the King of Shadows. The Princess of Shadows and the Sovereign of Night.

Except they'd once known her as Atropa Belladonna, too . . .

. . . before she'd betrayed Prisma and Rainbow Land to her father, the Dark One.


	3. Chapter 3

The iron-banded heavy oak door slammed so hard that paintings tipped and tilted and artwork rattled on their stands and pedestals. Pipkin squeaked and jumped, startled out of his wits. Whirling around, broom in hand, he shrank back as his Mistress stormed into the luxuriously appointed main room. Utterly ignoring him she snarled, yanking back the heavy drapes drawn across the balcony entrance then stalked outside.

Swallowing hard Pipkin began sweeping again, hoping with all his might that Nightshade would continue ignoring him. Granted, she'd never gone out of her way to mistreat him, true. But when her temper was _this_ bad, well . . .

All things considered Pipkin was rather grateful for the circumstances of his captivity. His Mistress, Nightshade, neither maltreated nor misused him. _Worked_ him, oh yes. He was her slave, after all, something she had made—and continued to do so—abundantly clear. But as long as he did his tasks to her exacting standards he was pretty much left alone.

Although, as the weeks and months had passed in weary, dreary monotonous drudgery, Pipkin had come to realize certain things. One of which was that, for all of her pretentiousness, he really shouldn't be here. He didn't understand why, but he'd gradually come to the conclusion that his Mistress wasn't _supposed_ to have a slave.

_And_ that no one was aware she _did_.

Under those circumstances Pipkin strove as hard as he could to remain as invisible as it was possible to do. He wasn't sure what would happen if someone discovered his presence here with her and, frankly, he wasn't at all curious to find that out, either.

Thankfully the few permanent castle residents seemed to find it difficult telling one sprite from another; at least when they were the same color, that is. So those occasions when Pipkin had to depart his Mistress' suite—for instance, when fetching her meals—he didn't necessarily stand out like a sore thumb, a fact for which he was deeply grateful.

He kept sweeping while his Mistress venomously ranted in a low yet dangerous tone just outside on her balcony. He wasn't sure what had upset her this time but he had a pretty shrewd hunch. Besides, what he could hear of her vitriolic diatribe was pretty informative.

"Your powers are still developing." "You're too young, too immature." "Patience child, patience." There was more, _much_ more, each one sharply clipped and artic cold with vehemence.

Oddly enough he felt a glimmer of sympathy for her, something that had utterly surprised him the first time he'd felt that. For the longest time all he'd felt had been loathing and contempt; well, healthy fear, too. But while he certainly wasn't _fond_ of her, over these last few years he'd begun to feel a peculiar sympathy for her.

"Slave! Come here!"

Pipkin winced, but immediately scurried over and out onto the balcony. He knew what to expect and braced himself for it.

"Yes Mistress?" Pipkin softly murmured.

"_Look!_" she commanded, imperiously gesturing to the sky.

Taking a deep breath Pipkin looked up and, as he'd expected, the night sky was literally blazing with intense tiny points of scintillating light.

"Now tell me slave . . . is that not simply the most glorious, most magnificent sight you've ever seen?"

As regal and imperious as her tone was, Pipkin could sense the deep aching need of confirmation there, the desperate need of validation that secretly lurked in her heart and soul. And always before—albeit out of prudence and the sense of discretion being the better part of valor—he'd considerately replied with affirmations.

Just as he'd started to do _this_ time.

"_Well?_" she snapped, looming over him, fiercely glaring down, arms folded across her chest.

"No one could do a better technical work Mistress," he hesitantly said.

"_What!?_" she hissed, eyes wide in shock. How dare this miserable creature call her glorious creation a 'technical work'!

But something inside Pipkin finally broke. His timidity and diffidence vanished. Looking up he gazed right in her eyes, and if he was trembling and quivering he could be forgiven that.

"Mistress, it really is amazing. Honest. But it's . . . well, it's _mechanical_."

For an instant Nightshade almost reached out with her powers and obliterated the disrespectful upstart. But only for an instant. For a moment later she perceived both his absolute terror yet also grim determination. "What do you mean?" she snarled, stung and wounded.

Pipkin kept his eyes on hers by sheer force of will. "Mistress, it's several things, each equally important. For one, as impressive as it is, there's no soul, no spirit, no _life_ to it. It . . . it just _is_."

He struggled to put into words what he felt. And for whatever reason it was terribly important that he do so. "_Why_ Mistress?" he asked, gesturing upwards. "Why do this? Is it just because you can? Is it solely for your amusement or behalf? Is it so everyone seeing it will be humbled by your power? Or is it so that others can enjoy that beauty?"

Nightshade blinked, staggering back a step at the questions. In just those few words somehow this slave had crystallized the vague, nebulous thoughts and feelings she'd been having. But he wasn't finished yet and she staggered back another step as he continued.

"If it truly is for others to enjoy I can tell you this," Pipkin continued, bitterness in his tone. "No one's enjoying it. You might not believe this, or me, but it's true: without color nothing you can create will ever be enjoyed. How _could_ it be?"

Again he gestured upwards. "Maybe you think or believe that in comparison to a warm, vibrant red, or uplifting, dazzling yellow, or in contrast with any of the other colors, your pure white, silver and gold might seem bland and plain. I assure you they're _not_. But without the other colors to compare those with, they _are_ bland and plain. There's nothing special about them."

"And without colors, there's no hope, no happiness, no joy. How can you expect anyone to enjoy your achievements when they're without hope? When all they feel is despair and misery?"

Nightshade had paled, her complexion almost translucent. Her fingers flew up to her lips, her eyes wide and shocked. "Father said once all color had been vanquished, it would only made my powers more magnificent!" she whispered.

In a weary, bitter tone Pipkin replied, "Then he lied to you."

For a moment Pipkin thought he'd said too much, pushed her too far, for a furious blaze of righteous indignation raged in her eyes. What she'd intended to say—or, far worse, intended to _do_—Pipkin never learned. For at that moment a deep shadow fell across them both as an icy chill froze his bones.

"What is that . . . _thing_ . . . doing here?" rumbled the gravely voice of the King of Shadows.

Nightshade looked up, starting in surprise at seeing Father standing there. Confusion still boiled inside her, but so did the raging inferno of betrayal. "Have you lied to me Father?" she demanded.

"Answer my question!" snapped the Dark One.

"_No_ Father!" Nightshade insistently shot back. "_You_ answer _mine!_ Have you _lied_ to me?"

There was a long moment of deadly silence, and Pipkin desperately wished to be anywhere but here.

"Foolish, impudent child," the King of Shadows sibilantly hissed. "How _dare_ you demand anything from _me!_ Ungrateful whelp! Miserable wretch! You are nothing without me. A pitiful, useless, churlish burden!" Nightshade paled, face turning white as ice. Each word seemed to strike her as a physical blow.

Then Pipkin felt icy dread as a cold, heavy hand closed around his arm. "You have no need of this," the Dark One hissed. "I will take it with me and see that it is properly . . . disposed of."

"_No_ Father!" Nightshade exploded. "No, you will _not!_" she defiantly raged.

Malevolent laughter rocked the rafters. "And what will you do to stop me?" the King of Shadows contemptuously roared.

"_This!_" she snarled, reaching out and grasping her slave's other arm. And then they both . . . left.

The King of Shadows roared again, this time in fury and rage, as Nightshade and Pipkin quickly faded . . . then vanished . . . and disappeared.


	4. Chapter 4

Pipkin wasn't sure where he was because, to be honest, it didn't seem as if he was _any_where. It was a decidedly odd feeling and, really, the only reason he wasn't panicking was because he was feeling far too grateful to have escaped the wrath of the Dark One. _However_ that had been accomplished.

He couldn't see, or hear, or feel. Yet, somehow, he _could_. He wasn't anyplace in particular that he could sense or tell; yet it felt as if he were everywhere at once. It was definitely the oddest, strangest, most peculiar sensation he'd ever experienced, yet for all that strangeness the one thing he _wasn't_ feeling was fear.

Before he could really begin pondering the whichness and oneness of it all he became aware of a presence. Then, right on the heels of that, with the feeling of a puzzle piece being snapped into place, he sensed profound grief, loss and distress, as well as 'heard' soft, anguished sorrow.

::Mistress?::

The sobs choked off into gulped sniffles.

::Ummm . . . Mistress?::

::What?::

Well, _that_ was rather short and abrupt. Yet, regardless, quite welcome, as Pipkin was starting to feel, well, rather lost, alone and abandoned.

Really, the first, most important question uppermost in his mind was _'Where are we?' _but, to his vast surprise, what he actually 'said' was, ::Are you all right?::

::No, I don't know where we are:: came her response, which had his eyes fly wide open . . . or, at least, he had that sensation. ::And no, I'm _not_ 'all right'. I don't think I'll _ever_ be all right again.::

Pipkin felt a touch of sympathy for her. Betrayal hurt. If anyone would know that _he_ certainly did. So it was difficult to find words of comfort for her when he still felt horribly, grievously wounded by _her_ betrayal. But while it was difficult to find words of comfort it was impossible for him to intentionally wound her with his own sorrow and heartache. Especially when she'd sounded just like a _very_ young, terribly brokenhearted child.

He 'heard' her gasp, then felt a sudden, tremendous sense of shame and self-loathing. The presence he'd been sensing abruptly dimmed and flickered, much like a candle that was running out of wax.

And not just dimming, he realized. But fitfully sputtering, on the verge of extinguishing.

::_**No!**_::

Terror flooded him. Not the fear of being left behind and alone. Not the fear of being lost wherever he was. But Pipkin instinctively sensed the spark of that presence was so full of guilt and remorse, disgrace and shame, repugnance and revulsion, detestation and abhorrence—and with _all_ of that focused inwards, on itself—that it was seeking the ultimate tranquility of oblivion.

::No, don't!:: he called out again. That spark of presence flickered, barely there, but remained. ::Don't go!::

::Why? What's left?:: Pipkin had to strain to 'hear', it was so very very faint.

::If you run away he wins. Running away is easy. Resisting is hard. Fighting back is even harder.::

If anyone knew that Pipkin did. Suddenly he felt a flood of remorse and shame every bit as intense as hers, as memories of him fleeing in terror, with not a single thought or concern about Indigo at all. And when he _had_ finally thought about her, his fear had still been too sharp, too intense, to even consider looking for her, let alone attempting saving or rescuing her. All of a sudden all he wanted to do was curl up inside himself and seek the same oblivion she had.

::_**Don't!**_::

Pipkin felt the sensation of arms suddenly holding him and, without a thought, flung his around her. He burst into tears, deep racking sobs, and sensed her doing the same. How long they held each other that way and cried together he had no idea, but the tears were a catharsis that at last cleansed them both, although he sensed deep wounds inside her that might never truly heal.

Sobs changed to weeping, weeping to sniffles and finally even the sniffling ceased. But they continued 'holding' onto each other for what felt like ages. Eventually Pipkin became aware of other things around them, hovering on the edge of his perception. Glancing about he felt his breath catch in his throat.

:: _---------!!_ ::

Pipkin was filled with awe and wonder. He was dumbfounded. Flabbergasted. Amazed. He simply didn't have words to describe how he felt, let alone words to describe what he was _seeing!_

Everywhere he looked—up, down, all around, _everywhere!_—he was surrounded by fields of dazzling, pinpoint-bright stars, gleaming moons, swirling galaxies, luminous nebulas, incandescent tailed comets . . .

He'd never seen anything like this! Never _imagined_ anything like this! Pipkin was literally overwhelmed by visions that no matter how hard he tried he simply couldn't put into words.

::You . . . you really like?::

The 'words' were so soft, so faint. But the emotions behind them certainly weren't. A surprised, bashful shyness threaded with an aching vulnerability.

::Oh yes!:: he exclaimed. Still, though . . .

As he looked around once more the mechanical feel to everything struck him once again. There was so much potential, so much promise, though! Like that moon over there. If only there was more . . .

Pipkin softly gasped. Even as he'd started picturing what would make that moon come more alive, more vibrant and animated . . . it had subtly altered and changed.

::_Oh!_ I see what you mean!::

He was too stunned to reply, and was even more stunned when, moments later, he 'heard' her soft, plaintive plea.

::Help me? _Please?_ Show me, teach me, what to do?::

Now if there was one thing a Color Sprite knew, and knew _well_ . . . it was how colors worked: how they harmoniously blended with each other and with the natural world, _and_ how they enhanced things as well.

Pipkin felt a rush of affection towards Nightshade. There was no disguising her genuine desire to make the heavens truly spectacular. There was a drive, an essential necessity inside her every bit as strong and resolute as the similar one inside him, and he could no more ignore that, turn his back on that, than he could have ceased being a Color Sprite.

Without a second thought—truly, without even a first thought—he began. And each time he focused on something, sensing the nebulous, indefinable change or enhancement it needed, it instantly shifted no sooner had he perceived that need.

Slowly yet surely the heavens changed, subtly shifting from merely mechanically glorious to truly, stunningly spectacular.

::Is that the way? Like that?::

::Ooooo! _Yes!_::

Again Pipkin felt a wash of amazed, shy bashfulness from her.

Together they worked long into the night, although neither was aware of the passage of time or, for that matter, truly what time it was. And as they worked the sky above the Colorless World gradually changed into a magnificent, eye-dazzling marvel to behold.

And observed and witnessed it was indeed, most certainly so. For the first time since the fall of Rainbow Land and the ascension of the Dark One sprites everywhere throughout the land looked up and felt hope.

While at the castle the King of Shadows seethed and fumed, frothing in impotent rage at the spangled heavens above. _He_ knew who was responsible, and swore undying vengeance against the upstart, impertinent traitor he had once called his daughter.


	5. Chapter 5

Suddenly Pipkin felt very weary, utter exhaustion settling over him like a thick, heavy blanket and weighing him down. He'd been growing steadily tired, he'd distantly, peripherally felt, but he'd been so mesmerized by the ethereal beauty surrounding him, so engrossed in guiding and teaching Nightshade, that he'd pretty much been ignoring that.

Well, he couldn't ignore that _now_.

Had he actually had a physical body he would have abruptly been staggering and, quite possibly, bonelessly collapsing, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. As it was suddenly he felt all muddleheaded and woozy, and it was a massive struggle to simply stay conscious.

::We need to go back now:: 'said' an equally worn out voice.

Pipkin wasn't about to argue; he simply 'nodded'.

Then abruptly tensed. ::Go back? Go back . . . _where?_::

But it was too late. Suddenly he felt himself turn inside out, a decidedly odd yet (even more surprisingly) natural feeling sensation. His vision shimmered a moment, then he found himself floating a few inches off the floor before gradually, gently settling down over a second or two.

He found himself standing on Nightshade's balcony again, back at the Dark One's hideous castle. The heavy tapestry that shielded the balcony from the rest of her suite had been ripped to shreds and, from what little he could see inside past those ragged ribbons, the rest of her suite had suffered a similar fate. Couches and chairs were torn and shredded, and everything he saw had been smashed and destroyed.

Glancing over his shoulder and looking up he noticed the sky was just starting to show the first signs of impending sunrise and his eyes opened very wide at that. Wherever they had gone, they'd been gone for hours!

Speaking of 'they' . . . just where _was_ Nightshade?

There was a sparkling flash next to him, followed by a pale, insubstantial shimmer. Pipkin's eyes rounded as that shimmer took the outline of his Mistress. Then, moments later, _was_ his Mistress.

Nightshade staggered as she appeared, wobbling and looking on the verge of collapse. She'd barely managed appearing before a shrill, wicked voice yelled, "There she is! Get her Lurky!"

"D'oh . . . I got her Murky!"

Before either of them had a chance to do more than blink, from out of the shadows lumbered Lurky, the bumbling lackey of Murky Dismal, one of the King of Shadow's evil henchmen. In a flash Lurky had yanked a heavy sack over Nightshade.

"I got her I got her!" Lurky gleefully sing-songed, hopping in place. "I got her Murky!"

"I see that bozo-brain!" Murky sneered. "Now don't let her go!" He jubilantly rubbed his gloved hands together. "The Dark One will be sure to reward us for this!" he crowed.

Somehow both of them had missed seeing Pipkin. Maybe it was because he was so small. Or perhaps his fur blended in with the shadows still thick in the room. Or, much more likely, they considered him beneath their notice, just an insignificant nonentity. But whatever the reason no one was paying him any attention. He could just make a dash for it and race for freedom.

Nightshade was fiercely struggling in the enveloping sack, fear and terror fueling her and overriding her utter exhaustion . . . just as it was doing for Pipkin. But Lurky had far too good a grip on her and she wasn't going anywhere. They weren't interested in him, he knew. They wanted Nightshade. They had been waiting in ambush here for her. _Just_ her. And Pipkin knew why.

_*whang*_

The heavy onyx serving platter caromed of Murky's helmet, sending him flying, landing on the floor on his belly and skidding. It had been a perfect Frisbee shot. Pipkin picked up a carved jet goblet, pulled it back and took careful aim, then flung it across the room and smacked Lurky in the head.

"Murky!" Lurky cried, seeing his boss go flying. "Whatcha doin'?" The goblet went bouncing, and for all that Pipkin could see Lurky hadn't even noticed. Fear and terror throbbed and surged inside him. This was insane! What was he doing? Why didn't he just run?

That was Atropa Belladonna he was trying to rescue! The Great Betrayer. The Terrible Traitor. The notorious, infamous Nightshade herself! The one single-handedly responsible for the ruination and destruction of Rainbow Land herself!

He wildly looked about, trying to find another impromptu missile to hurl even as his heart painfully throbbed in his chest. But before he could find one Lurky had cried out, "Daaah . . . Murky, you OK?" and had _just left_ Nightshade standing there!

"Idiot!" Murky screamed. "Banana brain! Forget about me! Get her!" he screeched.

Lurky skidded to a stop. "Uh-oh!"

But it was far too late. Those few seconds were all Nightshade had needed. In the twinkling of an eye she'd pulled the heavy sack up and off, and was now standing there, eyes snapping and blazing in fury, a wrath fortified by sheer terror. Raising her hands up she stared at the two, and suddenly tiny twinkling stars and miniature moons that glittered and sparkled surrounded her head.

And not just _her_ head Pipkin saw. With eye-dazzling, pinwheeling bursts tiny stars circled both Murky _and_ Lurky's head!

Lurky slowly sank to the floor, groaning as he did. Murky moaned as well but, as he was _already_ on the floor . . .

Before either of them could so more than pant in relief suddenly they felt a brooding ominous presence, like a fierce, massive thunderstorm looming over them, poised and about to break. Nightshade gasped; Pipkin spun about then quaked in terror, for standing in the blasted-open entrance of Nightshade's suite was the Dark One himself!

"_You!_" he snarled, his roar shaking the very fabric of the castle. Taloned, skeletal fingers extended outwards, flexing and groping. "Now you will pay for your betrayal!"

Poor Pipkin was frozen in place, knees knocking together as he quaked in sheer petrification. Nightshade blanched, paling to alabaster. The King of Shadows malevolently glided into the room, and as he did something snapped Nightshade out of her terror. She took three steps _towards_ her father . . .

Nite Sprite softly moaned, twisting and turning, sheets tangled around him as anxious whimpers filled the air.

Nightshade's suite suddenly shimmered, becoming translucent. The Dark One's thwarted howl faded into the distance as, once again, Pipkin found himself in that elsewhere. The bubble of energy that shock and terror had given him abruptly drained away, like water from a shattered clay pot, and he felt himself drooping from exhaustion and fatigue.

Nor was he the _only_ one that drained, it seemed.

Pipkin sensed the spark of presence that could only be Nightshade wavering and sputtering, and while he didn't understand how he knew this as fact, Pipkin was positive that if they didn't leave 'here' very soon . . . they wouldn't be leaving at all.

Suddenly it seemed as if the 'floor' he was standing on (which, considering it appeared he was nowhere and everywhere all at once was definitely a decidedly odd sensation) slowly revolved. Before him was a tiny pinprick of light. It slowly grew to the size of a marble, then a ball, then, at an astonishing rate, expanded bigger and bigger. Before Pipkin truly understood what he was seeing . . .

Pipkin was stunned, absolutely astounded and astonished. Somehow he was gazing down at Nightshade's balcony! He could clearly—_too_ clearly, actually, for his peace of mind—see the Dark One standing there, illuminated by a pure silvery shaft of light, one hand fisted and shaking in rage upwards.

::That won't do at all:: he 'heard' a drastically weary voice 'say'.

Suddenly that shaft of light moved. However, as it did, it truly seemed more as if the _scenery_ was moving while that lightly gleaming shaft stood still. And that was moving _fast_, too! In the space of a few heartbeats the perspective had moved several miles from the castle.

::I have to find someplace safe:: Nightshade sounded so terribly worn out. In fact, she sounded a lot worse than Pipkin was feeling, and it was all he could do to keep from huddling up in a ball and weeping from exhaustion.

::There:: Nightshade finally whispered as the shaft of light, now terribly dim and fading, settled onto a wide open, flat and featureless area. ::That will do::

Pipkin felt a sudden jolt of alarm surge through him but before he could say or do anything . . .

The world about him turned inside out again as his vision shimmered an instant. _This_ time, however, instead of appearing just about the ground and gently floating downwards he appeared several feet up and dropped like a sack of star sprinkles.

"Oof!" "Uhff!"

He and Nightshade both collapsed in heaps, the wind knocked out of both of them. They lay there, gasping and panting, and poor Pipkin felt as if he'd been run through the color crystal rollers.

"At least . . . now . . . we're . . . safe," Nightshade wheezed, looking quite like a rag doll that had been untidily tossed aside.

_'Safe? _Safe?!_'_ Pipkin thought in growing, dawning horror. _'She thinks we're _safe!?_'_

Pipkin looked about in fear and dismay, feeling a rapidly growing sense of dreadful alarm. They were right out in the open, no cover or concealment anywhere nearby. And she thought this was _safe??_ Granted, compared to being back at the castle and standing before the King of Shadows this was saf_er_, true. But it certainly wasn't _safe!_ This was very much like leaping out of the fire and hopping back into the frying pan!

He desperately tried warning Nightshade but he was too winded and exhausted to do more than grunt out a warning.

"No. _Noooo!_" Nite Sprite softly moaned, twisting more violently. "_Not_ safe. _Not safe!!_"

His moans faded to low whimpers as Moonglo gently caressed his forehead. She'd roused upon hearing his low, frightened sounds and was now standing at his bedside, gazing down with a tender and understanding compassion. "Shhhh," she softly crooned. "It's OK Nite Sprite. I'm here. Everything's all right. I won't ever let anything happen to you!" she said in a fierce yet still soft and low tone.

Nite Sprite's whimpers slowly eased then faded. His thrashing about settled down and, once he was still again Moonglo gently tucked the sheet around him once more. Then she knelt there, resting her forehead on the edge of the bed as she kept tenderly stroking Nite Sprite's forehead.


End file.
